Category: Love

On October 6th, my son Charlie turned six months old. Here’s the latest update…

Even though we are first time parents, my wife and I have pretty much established our parenting roles. For instance, my wife is Charlie’s primary caregiver. She is also his secondary caregiver. I, on the other hand, am his caregiver of last resort. After family, friends, neighbors, strangers, local clergy, government agencies, boy scouts, girl scouts, vagrants and all other potential caregivers have been exhausted, only then am I called upon to change his diaper.

However, I do have an important role in his upbringing. I am Charlie’s primary fun-giver. I am the jester, the minstrel, the amusement park, and the Gravitron all rolled into one. In short, my parenting skills consist of a never-ending Improvisational Comedy Show. I will do virtually anything to get him to smile. Sometimes, I’ll even pretend to eat a poopy diaper, just to get a laugh. Really, I have no shame in this regard.

But as Charlie has matured, I’ve tried to change my act to become a little more sophisticated. Mercifully, instead of slapstick humor, or sight gags involving soiled diapers, I’ve come up with some new games that are a little more refined…

Here is a partial list of some of Charlie’s favorite routines…

Get to the Chopper: At six months old, Charlie can’t crawl yet, so I invented this game to hopefully inspire him to gain locomotion. Left on the living room carpet on his stomach, he is totally stationary. In this game, we are both commandos at war in the jungle. It goes something like this:

I start by shooting my imaginary machine gun from behind some cover… usually a couch or recliner. On my stomach, I slither over to where Charlie is laying. (This act alone causes huge laughs…)

Me: “Charlie, we’ve got to get out of here. We just called in an air strike; this whole jungle is about to be firebombed! There are still foot soldiers around, so we need to crawl on our bellies 300 yards to be airlifted out of here!”

Even though our lives are at stake, Charlie is laughing through all of this. At this point, I begin to crawl away to escape to the chopper. After traversing a few yards across our living room, I turn and notice Charlie, while smiling, isn’t following me.

Me: “Charlie, are you hit? Look, I’m not gonna leave a man behind to die in this jungle! You’ve got to CRAWL soldier! Let’s move!”

He’s wearing a big smile, and is kicking his feet wildly, but he’s not crawling. I wriggle back to his position.

Me (now using a Swartzenegger voice): “Come with me if you want to live. Let’s go!!! Now!!! Get to the Chopper!!!”

Since I can’t leave a comrade behind, I scoop him up and carry him out of the jungle to safety. My reward is a Congressional Medal of Honor and some big laughs.

Blue 42 (aka highchair football): Essentially, the game works like this: Charlie is positioned in his high chair in the kitchen. Unbeknownst to him, we are actually in the midst of a football game. I put my arm around his chair, we huddle up and I call the next play, sometimes diagramming it on the tray in front of him. With the play clock dwindling, I clap my hands loudly to signal the breaking of the huddle.

Then, I get down into a three-point stance, ready to hike an imaginary football. Charlie is lined up opposite me, smiling in anticipation. At this point, I go into a loud, protracted snap count:

Me: “Ready! Set! Crack down! Deep Rover! Blue 42! Blue 42! Hut One! Hut two! Hike!!!”

I use a loud, hard count, trying to tempt the opposition to jump offsides. Charlie laughs through all of this. I then snap the ball. Only now, I’m somehow on defense, and I proceed to rush into Charlie who has now switched to being the quarterback on the other team. I grab his feet, pretending to sack him, and naturally follow it up with a celebration of some kind. More laughs.

To recap, we both initially are on the same team as we discuss the play call in the huddle. Then, I’m on offense, and he’s on defense while I prepare to hike it. But once I snap the ball, we change sides again. Oh, and the entire game lasts this one play. I know, from a football standpoint, it makes absolutely no sense. Thankfully, my wife understands as much about football as Charlie does, so she doesn’t toss any penalty flags during any of this. But, Charlie loves it this way, so this is how highchair football is played.

Ventriloquist dummy game: Truthfully, this game is more for my amusement than Charlie’s. This is where I manipulate his chin and then offer poignant commentary, in a child-like voice for his mother to hear.

“Mommy, please stop neglecting Daddy’s needs.”
“Mommy, why are you so cranky all the time?”
“Mommy, it’s almost noon, do you plan on taking a shower today?”

And so on…

Feats of Disgusting Behavior: Just like his dad, deep down, Charlie has a very lowbrow sense of humor. A belch or farting noise will unfailingly get him to laugh. I’m pretty sure kicks to the groin would work too, but I haven’t wanted to demonstrate that to find out. That’s why I’m super pumped for “Jackass: Number Two.” I think it’s the perfect movie for us to enjoy as father and son.

As with all of these games, the effort involved is worth it for a smile or belly laugh. It’s all in a day’s work for the primary fun-giver.

Where do I even begin?

My wife went to the mall today, because she needed to buy birthday gifts for both my mom and my sister. Three hours later, she returned home.

Remarkably, she didn’t buy anything for my mom or sister. Nothing. Not a single thing.

However, she did manage to buy several things for herself. (Not a surprise, as I knew this was the real impetus for the shopping trip.)

She also bought some things for our son.

She didn’t buy anything for me. (Again, not a surprise.)

And, she bought an outfit for a baby girl.

Of course, we don’t have a girl. None of our friends or family does either.

We honestly don’t know a single gift-worthy person that has a baby girl. In fact, we don’t know a single person who is even expecting a baby girl.

In short, my wife bought an item that is of absolutely no use to anyone we know.

Of course, this fact doesn’t seem to bother her at all. As she points out, eventually, someone we know will have a baby girl and we’ll have a nice gift ready to go. We just need to store this outfit for a year or so until then. Let the waiting game begin.

Does this situation seem ludicrous? Sadly, in the realm of female-logic, preemptively buying a gift for a nonexistent recipient makes perfect sense. Especially when that item is on sale.

For your enjoyment, I’ve outlined a few other layers of absurdity to this purchase:

The outfit she purchased is seasonal attire. Specifically, it’s meant to be worn in the summertime. Also, it is made to fit a baby girl approximately nine months old. To recap, this outfit can be worn during three months of the year, and only if the baby happens to be nine months old at that time and female. I’d say this is a pretty narrow window of usefulness. In fact, I would go so far to say it’s an impractical gift, even for a hypothetical baby.

Let’s look at it another way. For a baby to be nine months old in the summertime, she would have had to be born in October or November. Again, since we don’t know anyone expecting a baby in the next few weeks, we’ll have to shoot for next year to time it right. As it stands now, the best-case scenario for us is to have one of our friends have a baby girl sometime in October or November of 2007. This way, their daughter would be the perfect size to wear it during the summer of 2008. Needless to say, I’m sure glad my wife had the foresight to purchase this item today.

What else? Remember how the original purpose of her shopping trip was to find gifts for my mom and sister? It’s ok if this detail slipped your mind, as my wife forgot too. Anyway, I asked her why she came home empty-handed. It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. She told me about the multiple items she scrutinized, and the various reasons she had on passing on each one. Somehow, in her judgment, all of those items weren’t sensible purchases. In that regard, it makes buying the baby outfit seem even more remarkable, as it unbelievably managed to satisfy the criteria of a sensible purchase in her mind.

My sister’s birthday is in three days. My mom’s is in about three weeks. Time is short, and I’m a busy, busy man. We have absolutely nothing bought for either of them, yet we have the perfect gift for a female baby that will hopefully be born over a year from now. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my life.

Well, I suppose I should quit whining and just post the outfit on eBay. Hopefully I can recoup 60% of its value. Happy bidding everyone.

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I’ll never forget my first camping trip. I was six years old at the time. I ventured into the forest a boy, and emerged a man. I was the self-proclaimed King of the Forest, and I didn’t need a homemade crown of antlers and eagle talons to prove it. I just wore one anyway.

And now that I have a son, I figured it’s never too early to expose him to the untamed wilderness. Since he’s only four months old, I contemplated some sort of warm-up prior to a real camping trip. Originally, I thought about pitching a tent in the back yard, just to see how he survives at night amongst all the dingoes and gypsies that live in our neighborhood.

I decided against it. This isn’t meant to be a vacation. It’s a camping trip. It’s about survival. And ultimately, I decided the only way to transform him into a man is to drop him off in the wilderness alone and let him fend for himself. Well, he won’t be entirely alone. I’ll let him borrow my Rambo knife, you know, the type that stores matches and fishhooks and a compass in the handle.

So he’ll have a survival knife. And of course, we’ll dress him in camo as well. And the rest will be up to him.

Sure, it will be dangerous. Especially since he can’t crawl yet. I think that will really help him build character though. If a cougar attacks, he won’t be able to just run away from his problems. He’s going to have to deal with it head-on. I can feel it already; he’s going to learn some important life lessons on this trip.

It will be cold too. I generally don’t let him play with matches, so he doesn’t have much experience with fire. Consequently, there is a good chance that he might start a forest fire. That’s ok though. I almost look at it as a rite of passage.

Of course, his mother doesn’t know about any of these plans yet. But that’s the idea. I’m already concerned that she’s babying this baby too much as it is. It’s time for him to become a man.

And we’ll begin that process tonight by leaving him alone in the wilderness. And when I see him again in a few days, hopefully he will emerge as the new King of the Forest, unshaven, well-fed and draped in animal pelts, just as I was, 22 years ago.

Here’s a shot of Charlie and I in our respective full-camo attire. On a related note, I’m in the market for a matching baby-sized pair of camouflaged fingerless gloves. If you run across such an item, let me know.

Back, by unpopular demand, I am pleased to present another post on babies! I will now pause here for a few minutes to allow those that wish to leave to make for the exits. Please file out in an orderly manner.

~Five minutes later~

Ok, for the rest of you, I will now share the story of Charlie’s birth. And please, don’t call me a hero. In light of the circumstances, I just did what any man would do. Here is the true story…

Thursday, April 6th, 4:01 AM:
My wife, seven and a half months pregnant, wakes me up in the middle of the night:

Mrs. Centaur: “I need you to take me to the hospital.”
Me (groggily, but without hesitation): “No.”
Mrs. Centaur: “I’m serious… we need to get to the hospital now. I think I’m going into labor.”
Me (glancing at alarm clock): “I’m really busy right now. Let’s revisit this discussion in about three hours…”

I instructed her to bring me some rags and to sterilize my Rambo knife. She didn’t crack a smile. I desperately wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, but I reluctantly got out of bed. I’m not sure exactly what it was, perhaps my wife being hobbled over in excruciating pain, but I felt a heightened degree of urgency that morning.

Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t be judicious in picking my attire for the day. I put on a pair of jeans, only to discover that the pair I selected were a little too baggy, and didn’t showcase my beefcake satisfactorily. I went back to the closet and selected a more flattering pair. I began to rummage through the closet for an acceptable shirt, as I had a feeling this would prove equally difficult.

I’m not sure which was more painful for my wife, the contractions or my wardrobe indecisiveness. She couldn’t bear either, and went into the living room, ostensibly to start boiling water for a home delivery.

When I emerged a few minutes later, she was initially happy, as she thought we were on our way to the hospital. Not so. I was still shirtless at this point, and I merely wanted to check the shirt selection in the dryer before making a final decision.

Now dressed, I began to focus on my personal hygiene. Since my wife wouldn’t allow me to take a shower, I opted for a relayering of deodorant instead. I then did my best to contain my bedhead into a hat. Finally, I fired up the ‘ol Sonicare to brush my teeth. It was at this point that I noticed my wife in the doorway.

Two minutes is a long time, when you are watching someone else brush his teeth. I’m told that it’s even longer when you’re also going into labor.

We left in a hurry after that, meaning I was unable to pack some necessities and luxuries that I originally planned to bring along. Sadly, the following items were all left behind:

1. The digital camera and camcorder.
2. The Xbox 360
3. My laptop
4. A bottle of whiskey (or at least a full flask.) Think about it. Hospitals have vending machines and ice on hand, I could have crafted an unbelievably sweet mini-bar in the hospital room.
5. A change of clothes.
6. Newspaper (this one would haunt me later… read on.)

Ever since my wife became pregnant, I had a secret desire to attempt to induce labor through humor. Allow me to explain. If a joke is funny enough, it can elicit involuntary, physical reactions in people from laughing too hard. Early in life, a burgeoning comedian will earn his wings by getting a classmate to laugh so hard that milk comes out his nose. Later in life, you know that a date is progressing nicely when the girl warns you that she’s about to pee her pants from the hysterics you’ve provided.

And as far as these things go, I would think the ultimate badge of honor would be earned by causing a pregnant woman to give birth solely from laughing too hard. But could this actually be done? That was what I aimed to find out on our drive to the hospital.

As an added degree of difficulty, I would have to incorporate humor into my role as her birthing coach. Luckily, I didn’t spend the entire time in birthing class text messaging scores from the NCAA tournament. As she began her breathing, I held up my index finger about ten inches in front of her face as an object for her to focus on.

Me: “Ok, Jeannette… pretend my finger is a candle. Now, blow it out!”

As she focused her rapid breathing on the object in front of her, I began to rapidly twitch my finger.

Me: “Look! It’s flickering! The candle is almost out! Keep breathing…”

Once her breathing intensified, I folded my finger into my fist.

Me (re-extending my finger): “You got it, it’s out! …Uh oh, look, it’s one of those trick birthday cake candles! It’s re-lit itself! What a hilarious prank I pulled! Keep trying to blow it out!”

This game went on for a few minutes, culminating with me bringing out the candelabra (my right hand, with all five fingers extended) for her to blow out. And yes, as you might have guessed, all five “candles” were trick candles.

Her contractions were getting more intense, and I droving increasingly recklessly to compensate for it. Since transporting a woman in labor gives you traffic law impunity, I took full advantage of the situation. In the twenty-minute drive to the hospital, I drove excessively fast, ran a stoplight, and went the wrong direction down a one-way street. I’m pretty sure I also managed to execute the 80’s movie trick of driving a car on two wheels down a narrow alley. Of course, this isn’t really all that noteworthy, considering I commit these infractions on an almost daily basis anyway.

We arrived at the hospital, and the doctors decided rather quickly that my wife was going into labor, seven weeks early. The doctors tried to ascertain a reason for her premature delivery, ultimately deciding it was simply a medical mystery. Of course, I knew the real reason we were here. And to this day, it is my crowning achievement in the realm of humor.

Finally, here are a few more Charlie-related sidenotes:

Unbelievable Coincidences:
On several occasions on this site, I jokingly said I wanted to name our son after the Star Wars character Lando Calrissian. However, as the months went on, I honestly began to consider “Lando” as a middle name. Of course, my wife hates things that are cool and original, so the name never had a chance. And wouldn’t you know it, look at who was born on April 6th.

Perhaps if I had a copy of the morning paper, complete with celebrity birthdays, I might have had some more leverage as we filled out his birth certificate.

Want another unbelievable coincidence? Check out who else shares Charlie’s birthday. It’s simply uncanny. Sometimes I torture myself into thinking about what could have been… Charles Lando Clavin Ring.

Genealogy:
Everyone loves to play this game with a new baby. It’s somewhat imprecise, but here are my observations: Clearly, my son gets his brown hair and blue eyes from me. The same goes for his innocence and preciousness. As for his flatulence and occasional crankiness, I’m pretty sure that was inherited from his mother.

The Latest Milestone:
Charlie has learned to smile. Needless to say, this has been a tremendous morale booster for his caregivers. For me, it is a lot more tolerable to clean feces off another’s bare bottom when they are happily smiling at me while I do it.

Extended Coverage:
If you’d like to have up-to-the-minute information about Charlie’s weight, the messiness of his bowel movements and shots of him dressed as 80’s movies icons, go here. My wife started this site to placate the grandparents’ demand for such coverage… I think the general public will enjoy it too.

Sidenote: I’ve actually been a pretty good husband of late. I came up huge on my wife’s first Mother’s Day. And I’ve been helping out a lot with the new baby… Now, watch me squander all of that goodwill:

As you might have guessed, I am the Head of the Centaur Household. Along with that title, I am also the CEO and CFO of our organization. And I function as the Board of Directors too. Needless to say, we are very top-heavy in our family managerial structure.

As my titles would suggest, I oversee all aspects of the daily operation of the Centaur Conglomerate. However, at certain times, there is a need to delegate authority. For this purpose, I have crafted an organizational chart, illustrating the chain of command in our household.

As expected, the Xbox 360 is second in command, functioning as my deputy and right-hand man. In my absence, the Xbox 360 is left solely responsible for all household operations. My truck, the Manmobile III, then reports directly to the 360, who then reports to me. If both the Xbox 360 and the Manmobile III are unable to fulfill their duties, my wife assumes full command.

Of course, if you pay attention to the Org Chart, you’ll notice that my Original Xbox still holds a significant position of power within our family. This is done mainly as a precaution. While my wife is probably capable of managing the household on her own, she simply doesn’t have the leadership experience of my Original Xbox. Close to retirement, the Original Xbox functions mainly in an advisory role at this point. By having her working closely with the Original Xbox, I’m hoping it will help groom my wife for an executive position someday.

Some may question how the Xbox 360 achieved such a high-ranking position with such a short tenure. Normally, experience and years of loyal service will factor in heavily when deciding promotions. However, the hiring of the Xbox 360 involved special circumstances. The 360 was a heavily sought-after, big money acquisition. We couldn’t bring him on board without offering him a position of authority. While I would have preferred to promote from within, it was the only way to seal the deal.

Thankfully, my wife is accustomed to the glass ceiling in our household. She continues to be a loyal employee, devoting her time to tackling administrative work and handling all of my correspondence. Believe me, her positive attitude will be looked upon favorably in her annual review. And please, don’t feel sorry for my wife’s status in our organization. I’ve offered her countless opportunities to sleep her way to the top.

Finally, I recently decided to create a position for my son. I’m going to station him in the metaphorical mailroom of the household and let him earn his future promotions. He will report directly to the barbeque for all personnel matters, like getting vacation time approved and so forth. The barbeque will keep me regularly apprised of Charlie’s progress, and once a quarter I will give him an unbiased evaluation of his potential for advancement. As my wife can attest, there’s no room for nepotism in this organization.